Johnny flew into a rage, “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! “ He swung wildly, berserk with anger, the air roaring with the ferocity of the swings. The angel thing, as if having faced Johnny’s rage countless times, narrowly avoided the blows, “DON’T YOU DO THAT! DON’T YOU PITY ME!!” Johnny spat as he hurled the candlestick in foaming frustration. It missed, and clattered down the aisle with a sharp series of clangs. “I don’t NEED your pity. I don’t WANT your help. I don’t need anybody. All that **** was beat out of me a long time ago. All the crying and the hiding and pleading – I’m done with all that. You hear???!? I don’t need nobody or nothing in this world. Just me! “ He jerked two thumbs back at himself, his eyes moist with angry frustration, “Just Johnny C!”

The angel-thing waited a moment. Outside the doors the sounds of conflict began. Gunshots. Blows. Strange crackling of energy accompanied by flashes of crimson. Howls. Shouts and screams of pain. The moonlight died out completely and they were alone in the dark with the sounds of combat and the rain pounding the roof.

“Do you know what else was beat out of you Johnny? Hope. And fear. And yet you still hope for others what you cannot for yourself. It’s why you were willing to sacrifice yourself for that woman all those years ago.”

Johnny gripped the back of a pew for support and hung his head. He felt dizzy. Sick. “I ain’t’ no hero. My life ain’t good for much else. So I figured… why not?”

“And that is why the cross chose you. That is why it has kept you alive all these years. For such a time as this you were placed here. It is a very ancient thing that cross. It has graced the necks of many protectors and saints. St. George, St. Joan, St. Takayama…”

Johnny glared sideways at her as the fighting in the street increased in intensity.

“The assassin will strike in less than two minutes.” He didn’t move, “The cross chose you because you are willing to put yourself between innocence and evil. You are a protector. Protectors come with many names and serve many faiths. That cross is a sacred relic of the lost order of the Cavaliers. Only those whom it has chosen may wear it. It has kept you alive. You are no… Dracula… Johnny. You never died. You exist perpetually in the twilight purgatory between life and death. Remove the cross and you will be mortal. Remove it and the Thing that hunts you will finally claim its prize.”

Another pause. “One minute.”

“You keep me collared like a dog.” Johnny growled.

“Not anymore. Tonight you are free to choose which path you will take.”

“Thirty seconds.” Johnny stood irresolute. The angel-thing leaned in close as if to tempt him to strike. He could feel its sweet breath on his face. It spoke tenderly in a still small voice, “I dare you Johnny. I dare you.”

A lightning flash through stained glass threw broken colors across his face. Outside, a scream of pain.

With a burst of feral energy he pushed the angel-thing aside, charged down the aisle, and scooping up the candlestick along the way, he spun, pointed it at her and barked contemptuously, “WOOF WOOF!” and then he was gone. Even the loud peel of thunder that followed couldn’t mask the sickening crunch of the candlestick against the lurking gunman’s skull, or the blows that followed. In the flashing of the storm’s fury the angel watched as Johnny beat on the man until his head came apart like a melon.

“It’s done.” The angel said softly, looking upward. “After all these years a slayer is born. And he thinks he’s saving her. How little he knows. She saves him.” It hesitated. “Are You… sure about this one?”

There was a long pause and the angel grumbled unhappily as if in response to an unseen voice, “No I did NOT think the Dracula thing was funny!” The angel sighed, and melted slowly away like the morning frost.